


A Jester Alone

by CavannaRose



Series: Harley Quinn Fics [6]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series, Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harleen Quinzel doesn't just get put on a shelf. She'll /make/ him notice her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jester Alone

So many people looked at Harleen Quinzel and all they saw was weakness. Her codependency on the people in her life was well remarked upon, and not in the most favourable of lights. Even the recipients of her exhuberant affections often would prefer if she simply... didn't. The blonde didn't see this as something she lacked, though. There was simply so much love in her that it demanded an outlet.

Her near obsession with the mad clown who had unlocked an unknown side of her was simply a facet of her buoyant personality. He had blended fear, pain, pleasure and longing into the most irresistible cocktail. She'd heard all the arguments; that he didn't care; that it was abuse; that was was just a tool... but better to be a tool for love than nothing at all. She'd been ambitious, once upon a time, and he had seen that, fostered it, and twisted it to his own malevolent purposes. The end result? Everyone knew her name, just as she had wanted.

She sat in front of her mirror, scrubbing the white makeup from her face. She loved the clown in the deepest, darkest part of her, but how much rejection was too much? How many times would she let herself be abused and then cast aside as if she were nothing? When would she consider it too far?

Shedding the jester costume she let her fingers glide lightly over her scarred skin. Marks of ownership so lovingly given, branding her as his possession. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was. Why would he bother with such things only to throw her away? Perhaps... perhaps this was a test. Perhaps she had to earn her way back into the madman's good graces. Surely there was some grand gesture she could make to draw his attention? A sly smile came over her face. She had an idea. A hilarious, clever idea. She'd show Mister J that Harleen Quinzel was not someone you just walked away from.

Digging through her closet, Harleen pulled out a sedate blouse and skirt, echoes of her days at Arkham. She smoothed a pair of pantyhose up her legs, watching her hands as if they belonged to someone else. She stepped back in front of the mirror, doing the small buttons of the blouse all the way to her collar before slipping on her old lab coat, shaking out the wrinkles it had accumulated from years of disuse. As a finishing touch she fixed her hair up into a tidy little bun and slid a pair of glasses up her nose.

She barely recognized herself. How long ago had she left the girl in the mirror behind? It felt like this was the costume, the smiling harlequin had become her real self. She smiled tightly at the stranger in the mirror. For what she had planned, this would get her much further than the other. Stepping out side a few minutes later, she hailed a passing taxi.

She was silent during the drive, paying the cabbie with a quietly murmured gesture of gratitude when he reluctantly left the pretty young blonde outside Blackgate Prison. Thought it's inmates lacked the particular flair of Arkham's illustrious guests, they were no less violent. The former psychiatrist straightened her jacket, praying that the credentials she'd paid Kuttler for would come through. She had some recruiting to do, after all.

Pleasantly surprised she passed through the checkpoints with ease. Apparently her notoriety did not extend to the point where her real face was easily recognized. She forced back the scowl that wanted to form at the thought. Today that little bit of leeway, along with Calculator's hacking skills, would do her well. Every scanner passed was another note of gratitude for the bespectacled creep. Nigma was far more pleasant, but one never knew what he wanted. Noah Kuttler, on the other hand, always had a guaranteed price. Much tidier that way.

She paused outside the maximum security wing, surreptitiously unfastening a few buttons before she leaned in to flirt with the big guard on duty. She placed a small hand on his arm, pretending to laugh at whatever idiotic observation he'd been making, acting as if she didn't notice him leering down her shirt. Neither he, nor his partner noticed her palming his keycards and sliding them into her coat pocket, so involved were they in noticing her breasts.

With a flirtatious moue, she batted her eyelashes and coerced the pair to let her enter the maximum security sector alone. She convinced them that she needed to observe the convicts in a more relaxed state, not the agitated one that the presence of armed guards would cause. A few breathy whispers and the promise of a date Saturday night and the big man's partner let her into the row housing the most violent offenders still considered to be of sound mind.

The hard soles of her comfortable flats clicked across the cement floor as she paced to the centre console that controlled lockup for this floor. "Evenin' boys. Ya may not recognize me in this getup, but I'm lookin' ta hire some muscle fah a gig that's sure ta earn a few chuckles. Anyone interested in makin' bail?"

At the rumblings of interest, she grinned brightly, signalling Calculator who cut the power to the rest of the prison a moment after she swiped the keycard to unlock all the cells.

News of the bloody breakout at Blackgate Prison spread to the local news outlets surprisingly slowly. Families of the dead guards were paid to keep silent as the mayor struggled to contain what would surely be a panic. The gossip hit Gotham's seedy underbelly much sooner. Incredulous whispers about the clown's crazy henchwench forming her own little troupe of face-painted freaks. On the tail end of these rumours came the rumblings of what caused it. Was she trying to catch the madman's attention again? Make him jealous? Or was she simply striking out on her own?

Her newly liberated thugs were spectacularly close-lipped. Even Cobblepot's notoriously deep pockets couldn't loosen their tongues. Whatever hold the harlequin had over her motley group of Joker clones, they were loyal.

The former sidekick was in her glory, surrounded by fellas clad in purple, their smiling faces turned to catch her every cue as she led them into the department store she'd chosen to launch her particular crime spree from. The heavily armed goons soon rounded up shoppers and staff, corralling them in a corner as the jester appeared to be browsing the racks.

Her 'purchases' selected, Harleen gestured to one of her green-haired henchmen. "Be a darlin' an' empty those registahs, will ya sugah?" A mad little giggle escaped her as she draped her clothing selections over the arm of another heavily-armed thug, drawing a wickedly sharp dagger that she'd had strapped to her thigh.

She moved over to the hostages, bunched and trembling in fearful anticipation, and laughed again. Skipping around them like a schoolgirl at recess. "Eeny, meeny, miney, moe!" She declared, gesturing to one after another of the innocent civilians with the blade of her knife. As the last was selected she nodded to her beaming minion, who yanked the frightened, middle-aged manager to his feet.

Harleen patted the man's chest affectionately. "Ya know, sugah, ya seem awful old ta still be workin' in a department store, near old enough ta be my dear old dad." Her cheerful face darkened into a scowl. "Ya know what else? My puddin's about tha' old too. Tall an skinny like ya ta boot..." She chewed her lip, glaring at the floor and scuffing her boot across the linoleum. "He don't think he needs me like I need him, but we'll show him, won't we?"

Taking this as a cue, the thug holding the man forced him to his knees. The jester bent over and gave each of them a tender pat on the cheek. Just as suddenly the grin returned to her face and she gripped the man's chin, digging her blade into his left cheek, dragging it through the flesh as he screamed and tugged against her hold. She was relentless, moving to his second cheek, the skin and muscle offering petty resistance against her sharp knife. He managed to jerk his head, the tip of her blade glancing off his teeth as the blood drenched his face and her pretty white gloves.

Face red beneath the thick white makeup, lips pressed into a thin line of rage, she knelt down in front of the man, hand swinging at his face in a loud slap. The shock of it silenced him for a moment. "Ya've gone and made it crooked." She sighed, cradling his head to her chest, shushing him and petting his hair before pushing him away again. She sighed, pressing a soft kiss to each of his ruined cheeks, his blood stamped garishly across the paleness of her face. Bright blue eyes stared into his for a moment. "I told ya I was strong enough, puddin." She whispered to the petrified, and very confused man.

Leaning forward again her blade came up between his ribs, puncturing a lung before embedding in his heart. AS he coughed and scrabbled against her, attempting to scream, she twisted the blade viciously before withdrawing it and standing up, staring down at him without really seeing as she cleaned the flat of the knife off on her leggings.

Sirens sounded in the distance, the GCPD finally on their way. "Let tha rest go, fellas. Let's get gone." The big goon lifted her up onto his shoulder, Harleen and her strange little crew taking off, heading for the well-hidden string of warehouses that they were currently working out of.

Over the next several weeks, their crime spree spread through Gotham like wildfire. Each robbery seeming nonsensical and unrelated, but each left with one grizzly calling card. Always an older male, always left with a Glasgow grin and a hole right through his heart.

"Miz Quinzel," the hulking brute with gentle eyes interrupted his dainty boss, causing the jester to halt the row of stitches she was placing in her newest recruit's bright orange vest. She tilted her head to one side, taking in the killer who was always so careful around her.

"Whatsa mattah, sugah?" she queried, baby blues soft with concern. Of all her assembled fellas, he was definitely her favourite. The big man placed a grease-stained fast-food bag in front of her, nudging it forward with his toe.

"Ya ain't had nuthin' ta eat taday, nor yestaday neither. The fellas an I was gettin' worried." She patted his leg affectionately, her position on the floor guaranteeing that was as high as the petite blonde could reach. She moved the bag to the side, picking up her stitching once more.

"Tha's real sweet of ya, sugah. Thank ya." The big man frowned, eyeing the places where Harleen's ribs were beginning to show, her once generous curves swiftly dwindling. Pausing to look up at the man still standing there, she sighed. Unwrapping the burger she took a small bite, chewing and swallowing quickly. "Bettah?" She asked, a tinge of irritation in her voice. He didn't look totally appeased, but her henchman accepted that it was the best he was getting and left the boss alone.

 


End file.
